


it takes two to tease

by crownofhorns (murakamism)



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakamism/pseuds/crownofhorns
Summary: The Force connects them when they're most desperate for each other.





	it takes two to tease

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT proofread because I'm too embarrassed to re-read the entire thing. It's just sheer porn.
> 
> Force Bond? More like Fuck Bond. Hell yeah.

At night, she imagines an ocean—black and calming, with waves that rock her to sleep.

She’s on an empty island in the middle of nowhere, on the most isolated planet in the galaxy. Even through the hut’s stone walls, she can hear the faint noise of waves crashing in the distance, a strange lullaby that she isn’t used to. Not yet.

Rey sighs.

She lies still, flat on her back. Her hands are folded on her belly, and she taps her fingers to a random rhythm, humming the only song she remembers from her youth. Nights on Ahch-to are chilly, so she draws the blanket up even higher on her body, but then stills—

There’s a familiar heat coiling between her legs.

Rey groans.

She spreads her legs slightly, wondering if it’ll go away if she ignores it hard enough. The din of the ocean is replaced by the sound of blood rushing to her ears, and she sighs, gripping the edge of the blanket.

She imagines an ocean—black and calming, with waves that rock her to sleep.

But what if there are arms that cradle her instead? She imagines a strong, faceless man. His hands are steady and warm, and as he drags his fingertips along her skin she feels her entire body flush with heat. He would be gentle, but not sugary sweet; he’d have a low voice, and it would resound deeply as he’d descend onto her…

Large hands would part her legs, fingers digging into the hard flesh of her thighs.

She shuts her eyes tight and regulates her breathing, inhales deeply and then exhales. Rey shoves the blanket down slowly, allowing herself to count to ten. Her fingers shake and her heart pounds, but she can already feel it—the spreading wetness between her legs, the lovely warmth tingling her nerves, the blooming desire that coils in her belly, a deep _groan_ that rings through her ears.

She gasps.

Her hands remain frozen on the blanket. She hasn’t even touched herself yet, but she thrusts her hips upward into empty air. Something slithers into her mind, bleeding hotly, and she _whimpers_ , because it feels _good_. She must be imagining that: the phantom hand on her, with fingers that are callused but secure; and the heavy panting in her ear, with a breath that’s wet and hot and silent in the night.

_Kylo?_

He groans in response, half-lucid, barely even aware of her mind pressing against his.

_Are you… Are you doing this?_

Somehow she _knows_ that he’s large. She can tell by the weight in her palms—empty as they may be. Her face grows hot for a different reason, but despite the embarrassment, she can’t deny the sudden spike of excitement within her.

He’s touching himself, stroking himself, his muscles shuddering with the pleasure. Rey keels even halfway across the galaxy; she can feel his movements throughout her entire body, from her head to her toes. He thrusts into empty air, into the grip of his palm, and she thrusts her hips along to the same rhythm—hoping for the same sensation.

His palms, his fingers, all of those are large too. She bites down on a whine and shifts her hips. Her panties are soaking wet by now, and she wants something _inside_ of her right now… but instead she snakes a hand underneath her shirt and grabs her own breast, thumbs her nipple.

Rey’s back arches as Kylo’s does. She grips the bed with her other hand and then swallows down a moan—his or hers? She can’t even tell anymore—as his pace gets faster and faster. She can feel it, every second and every movement, and even though there’s nobody here she can imagine that same friction between her legs, against her throbbing clit.

She’s about to tug down her pants when she feels him finish. A burst of _heat_ explodes in her chest and behind her eyelids, and she feels him shudder—his toes curling as hers do. Rey whimpers, her hips stuttering, and then continues stroking her nipple, riding out the wave. When Kylo comes, she does too, just as hard as if there had been an insistent hand between her legs.

Suddenly, the bond shuts down like a metal door and she almost goes deaf with the silence. Rey inhales deeply, breathes, lies still to listen to her own pounding heartbeat. She’s still dripping wet, but a strange calmness finally lies between her legs. And she can’t believe it, that this is even possible: that she could come without being touched, that she could feel Kylo Ren stroking himself even halfway across the galaxy.

“Oh, kriff,” she swears hopelessly into the empty hut.

 

 

These days are long.

Kylo collapses into his bed, the mask slipping from his fingertips. It falls to the ground with a clatter, but he doesn’t even bother picking it up. He sits on the mattress, hunched over, as he catches his breath.

He can’t rest yet. He can only lie still and hope that his heartbeat calms down. His nerves thrum underneath his skin—fizzing and electrically charged, coiled with tension. He clenches his hands into fists and the leather of his gloves creak. On the edge of his palm is a mark of soot.

He spent the entire day fighting. It’s something he’s used to; it’s second-nature to him, it’s what he’s been born to do. And yet throughout the day he’d felt _her_ : her fury, her presence, her snarl at the back of his mind.

 _If you really wanted to protect them_ , he’d whispered to her. _Then you would come here and face me head on._

She hadn’t replied, but their Bond remained open, and he felt every inch of spitfire from her veins. His saber was bright and dangerous in his hands, and with Rey’s wordless rejection his swings were wilder, sharper.

More deadly.

And until now, even late at night (or early morning?), he can feel her faintly in the distance. The irritation humming through him keeps him on edge, and he can’t wait to destroy a comm terminal or a practice droid or five.

Except that his muscles are screaming at him, and the heat in his belly can only be vanquished by one thing.

He sighs, rolls his shoulders backwards. It’s a ritual, the way he undresses: pulls off his leather gloves first, and drops them gently on the bedside table; tugs off his boots; unhooks his belt, and then his tunic to reveal his thin undershirt; and lastly, to unbutton his trousers—freeing him from constriction.

He doesn’t usually think of _anything_ when he does this, so the image of Rey comes to him unbidden. He can’t help it; there’s the image of her lips curled into a fierce snarl, her hair flying in the wind, her eyes piercing his soul. And he takes himself into his hand, grips his own erection with a grunt and a groan.

It’s not fair to her to do this. But he can’t _not_ think of it—of her small but callused hands, her slender neck, her muscled shoulders. The images in themselves aren’t filthy, but they spurn him on just as the battle does—and with every clash of their sabers he finishes a stroke, again and again.

Kylo swallows down a moan. His pace speedens up, and he thrusts his hips into thin air. His hand is tight on his cock and his fingers are dribbled in precome, slick and hot and perfectly large—

Wait, no, that thought isn’t entirely his. Kylo groans, cock twitching, as he imagines slender fingers sliding into a wet cunt, two at a time.

He gasps.

 _Rey_.

Wherever she is, he doesn’t know. But he can feel it: every emotion, every spark. He jerks himself off at the same pace as her, presses against her mind insistently. He grows achingly hard as he thumbs the head of his cock, and then opens his mouth for a breathless pant.

Throbbing. He’s throbbing just like she is. The pulse in his chest, in his wrist, between their legs. He hears her gasp into his mind, her breath soft and small.

Filthy scavenger.

The words are fond but coiled with heat. He thrusts into his palm, into the cool night air. She replies with a thrust of her hips against her hand, and stars burst behind his eyelids the same time hers do too.

Heat. Heat. Coiling heat.

He can feel her spread her legs open, thrust her fingers knuckle deep and find the best angle. Kylo groans, his muscles tightening, and so he grips his length even harder to delay the inevitable.

 _I want to come with you._ He thinks, not too loudly. His head is filled with cotton, with electric disturbance. He wonders if Rey even realizes what’s real and what isn’t. _Let me come with you_.

 _Show me_. She finally replies, voice confident. A demand. He bites back his smile and instead strokes the inside of his thigh, near the base of his cock. _Show me yours and I’ll show you mine._

 _You’ve already showed me, sweetheart,_ he croons. He feels her buck at his purr, and he grins like a feral lothcat. _I can see you entirely. You’re so beautiful._

_You’re a pervert. You started this._

_You called out to me_ , he murmurs. _You want me._

Her Bond sizzles, and he anticipates her sharp tongue. But instead she lets out a long-drawn moan, a high-pitched keen of his mangled name, and then disappears in a supernova of white heat.

Kylo comes into his hand, spills onto the sheets.

The Bond is silent, without even static to keep him company. The room is still.

Kylo hums.

 

 

Rey is _still_ wet.

She groans in frustration.

Thankfully, she’d found an isolated place to hide. No one will be looking for her for the rest of today, and she’d planned on meditating and practicing her forms. But instead there’s a familiar heat between her legs, a familiar wetness, and she can barely sit down without wanting to rut against something.

This morning she tried to solve it in the fresher, but as soon as she emerged, the cool wind left goosebumps on her skin, and all she could think of was Kylo’s voice: deep as well, dark and heavy against her ear.

_You want me._

She does. She does want him, just as much as he wants her. No longer can she deny it. It’s strange to be so attracted to someone, to a monster, but her body wants what it wants, it seems.

Still, she groans.

Everything about him is large. Too large. But it excites her, really: his broad shoulders, his muscled torso, his jawline, his hands, his cock. She’d seen it in her mind’s eye, every inch of it, and just the thought is making her leak even more—

“Kriffing Kylo,” she mutters under her breath. She presses her thighs together tightly.

There are all sorts of fantasies to keep her company. His long fingers pressing into her… Oh, she’d be satisfied with one finger, but he’d use more. He’d find her clit and be relentless, be as rough as on the battlefield. Or maybe he’d take her from behind, with his hands on her hips and his hips flush against her backside. He’d be impatient and would slide in smoothly, and she’d take in every inch, no matter how painful.

The idea of being filled makes the pulse between her legs throb.

Or maybe he’d put that big mouth to good use and please her with his tongue. Those red lips, soft and plush, would groan into her center. That voice, dark and low, would rumble against her thighs.

_You want me to eat you out?_

His voice doesn’t even come as a surprise. Rey considers feigning ignorance, but even she can’t resist—although she does send a spike of irritation through the bond.

_I want you to shut up for once and put your mouth on me._

He groans. She feels it in her chest, and underneath her skin. It sends a shiver down her spine.

_Lie down and remove your trousers. Spread your legs._

_Excuse me?_

_You heard me._

Rey rolls her eyes. _You aren’t even here. And if you were, I’d try to slice your head off—_

_After we fuck, right?_

_Oh, you self-centered prick—_

She gasps, cut-off mid-sentence. A pleasant sensation tingles her spine, and it coils down her back like fingertips fluttering against her skin.

 _What are you doing?_ She asks, even as her back arches against that invisible touch.

_Lie down. Take off your trousers. Spread your legs._

She does, she does.

Her hands shake.

But she does; she lies down on her makeshift mattress and spreads her legs. The air is cool against her skin, leaving goosebumps on the flesh of her thighs. But soon warmth spreads against her knees, her skin, and Rey flinches when she feels a warm wetness against her center.

_What are you…_

When she looks down, she catches the faint outline of him through the Force. His hair is dark as night, but his skin is pale—and he looks up at her from his place between her legs. He smirks, those lips ripe and red.

 _Your wish is my command,_ he murmurs into her head.

He dives in again, all flickering illusion of him. But what Rey feels is definitely not an illusion; it’s as real as the walls surrounding them or the mattress underneath her back. Kylo’s hands are large, large and warm, and he grips the flesh of her thighs to part her legs.

His tongue laps at her cunt, parts her lower lips. Rey gasps at the intrusion, but she welcomes it, welcomes the warm tongue exploring her insides.

Kylo sucks at her, his groan reverberating through her bones. He mouths at her cunt, and she feels him sneak a finger into her entrance. It’s large, honestly, large and long and perfectly slick with her fluids—she lets him in, spreads her legs even further and moans as he finds her clit.

When she looks down she finds Kylo Ren with his face buried between her legs. His eyes are shut, and he snakes another hand around her hip to grab the flesh of her buttocks. She gasps, lifting her leg slightly and bending it at the knee… until Kylo presses the pad of his tongue against her clit and she unconsciously thrusts against his mouth.

 _Fuck, you taste so good_ , he whispers reverently. His voice is silk and smooth, velvet in her ears, and Rey feels the pleasure build along the base of her spine. She thrusts against his mouth slowly, languidly, moans in affirmation as his finger pumps her to a steady rhythm.

 _I’ve always wanted to do this,_ he confesses. _Always wanted to take you with my tongue._

 _You’re good at this,_ she admits reluctantly. And then gasps as he sucks on her clit with heightened intensity. It’s almost painful, this pleasure—and she feels each movement of his body as if it were hers.

His mouth opens wide, as if to kiss her. The noise it makes is filthy, but she’s burning up, boiling over. The embarrassment is drowned by sheer heat—the heat of his other hand on her ass, his finger in her, and his tongue buried in her pussy.

 _Kylo_. A breathy exhale.

He surges forward, his hips thrusting against thin air. It hits her too, how hard he is—how his cock strains against his trousers. She wants all of him: his tongue, his mouth, his hands, his length. But she wants to experience all of them in due time, with due attention, and right now his finger is against her—

“Oh!”

She screams out a curse as she comes against grateful lips. Kylo kisses her inner thigh, and she clenches down onto his finger, tight and slick and desperate.

The world continues to spin, but she feels the weight of the mattress against her back, feels the cool night air settling onto her skin. Rey blinks away stars and moisture, and she is hyperaware of the uncomfortable slickness between her legs.

“Kylo?” she breathes. Her voice is a fragile thing, all shaky air and shallow breath. She can barely raise her head to check if he’s still down there.

He doesn’t respond. The warmth against her thighs dissipates like smoke.

She gets onto her elbow with a grunt. She realizes that the space between her legs is empty—and so is the bed and the rest of the room. She glances around furtively, checks every dark corner, but all that remains is the bare space that they’d given her.

The irritation fizzled at the back of her mind. She calls out to him through the bond, her voice snappish despite her sated pleasure.

_Where are you?_

And to think she was going to return the favor. What an idiot.

His voice is amused but distant. Strained. She imagines him rutting against thin air, his large body balanced on a quite spartan but classic First Order-issued bed. He wouldn’t have even removed his tunic or his trousers, and she can imagine the way his hardness would strain—

 _Still not satisfied, sweetheart?_ He chuckles into her ear. Rey scowls. _I should’ve known you were insatiable._

 _Get back here,_ she demands. _I’m not done with you yet._

He sighs, deep and breathy. She feels too, feels it inside her lungs. He exhales with her.

 _I’ve got other plans to tend to,_ he murmurs, almost forlorn. Rey shivers at the familiar sensation of a gloved finger running down her spine. She squeezes her eyes shut. _But you’ll wait here and be a good girl for me, won’t you?_

 _Sod off,_ she snaps, even though both of them know she doesn’t mean it.

He grins through their bond.

_I won’t be long. Be ready for me, Rey._

The bond slides shut like a heavy metal door. Rey whimpers at the sudden silence, at the gaping blackness left in her mind. She wants to scratch against it, wants to rut, but Kylo’s promise hangs in the air—

And she can feel it: the way he can barely contain his own desire, the way it threatens to overpower him.

The night is still long. Rey lies back.

She's always been good at waiting.


End file.
